It approaches again.
With eyes upturned and mouths twisted, it has been cynically proclaimed in its latter day to be a waste of time and money; a commercial scam instigated mostly by Hallmark and Wal-Mart. Its history is paved with half-truths and broken promises—even blood; it's conception is both dubious and honorable.
But where has chivalry gone? Does it matter where or how something was derived as long as it is currently positive? For example, Santa Claus: the promise that, if any given child’s greed overcomes his or her impulse to misbehave, they and their parents alike will be rewarded; children with whatever they've been coveting and their parents with due reprieve of their kid's youth-excused insanity. And yet this "man" (or elf, or whatever) originated as a marketing idea by Coca Cola, a carbonated drink with enough acid to dissolve an iron nail in a week and enough sugar to give those very children just the chemical imbalance they need to lose their underdeveloped minds in the first place. This is acknowledged—yes, even embraced—and with no ensuing complaint from the evangelistic subculture, the overt sacrilege notwithstanding.
And yet, Valentine's Day needs to be attacked because the majority of the United States is so neurotic and socially ineffable that we end up lonely on the very day that gives us every excuse in the world to be as socially (sexually) "deviant" as our ostensibly puritan society will allow us to be. What's so wrong with a "Hallmark Holiday" anyway? I like those cards, damn it. I think they're cute.
Generally, when certain things go one’s way, one will begin to take these favorable circumstances for granted and when they don't, one tends to forsake them. But some of us (like me) are too hardheaded for that. Some of us are dreamers and don't pay enough attention to how shitty it has been to complain about how shitty it's going to be. That about me will change later in my life. In just a few more years, I'll grow impatient with eventualities that seem to invariably result in my life and I’ll digress into a philosophic purgatory—not quite forsaking everything, but certainly not accepting any of it, either.
But Valentine's Day is tomorrow, and I’m still young and idealistic. Furthermore, never in my life have I experienced a "decent" Valentine's Day. The majority of them have been lonely, a couple of them have been tragic or annoying, but I have never experienced the coveted “romantic and fulfilling.” What am I to do? Certainly, I don’t have anyone to take out, (make) love (with), to captivate… Well… Let's think outside of myself for a moment "What am I getting out of this?" probably isn’t an effective approach to the chivalrous holiday. Maybe the purpose of Valentine's Day is to put a Romantic McTwist on the concept of Christmas—the whole "sharing is caring" sort of thing. Perhaps, it’s even deeper than that. The whole concept of Christmas is to ignite pleasant feelings inside of you by giving someone something they want and hence positively influencing their life. Therefore, what could I do (and with that sort of outlook) to improve this Valentine's Day so that it isn't just a rehashing of what's already happened for as many holidays as I’ve been alive? I mean, never even received any of those little square cards that little girls would hand out in elementary school.
Of course, I’ll come up with something.
***
I go to… never mind, the classes I attend are irrelevant. Today, my life is going to change. I'm finally going to break the curse. I am going to have a romantic Valentine's Day so today, if no other day, it's what comes after class that counts.
I walk to the student center with what would be assumed to be determination by passerby. At the center of the campus, I begin my magnum opus equipped with twelve roses.
Suddenly, she approaches like dawn; her appearance is inevitable, but surprising and breathtaking nonetheless. It’s my time to act, as there is the first Beautiful Girl.
Full bouquet in hand, I walk toward her with my Sunday morning smile.
"Hi.”
"Hi!" She replies emphatically. I preconceived this response; she has no idea who I am and I’m standing before her with a full bouquet of roses and abstruse intentions.
"Yeah, uh, well, you see..." Had I even thought this through? She appears nonplussed. "...I, uh, I decided to buy twelve roses and, well, uh, since it's Valentine's Day..."
She tilts her head to the side. "Uh... do I know you?"
"No. No, you see, I bought twelve roses and, since it's Valentine's Day, I'm giving one to each of the most beautiful women I see. You know, as a gesture. Uh... you know." She stares at me blankly. I pick out a rose and give it to her. She takes it, briefly looks at it and then back at me.
"That is SO SWEET! AWWWH!" She sniffs the rose and we simultaneously walk off. Well... she walks off. I more retreat.
I shrug my shoulders and swivel my neck, adjusting under the new sweat. I'm dressed in my Pierre Cardin shirt and black slacks; I look damned good but I don't want to screw it up because I decided to choke on the first damned girl I see.
I'm walking toward the dorms as I've had enough of the Student Center; I'll come back later. Suddenly, I see Beautiful Girl Number Two. She has on a professional blouse followed by a short skirt accented with cute slip-ons producing high, thick heels. I close in.
"Uh, excuse me?"
"Yes?" She doesn't break stride even a little bit.
"Yeah, see, I bought twelve flowers and—"
"That's nice."
"No, listen, I bought them for the most beautiful girls I see all day. Because, you know, it's Valentine's Day."
She stops. I smile. Her expression is incredulous. I pull out a rose and give it to her. She takes it. I smile again.
"Th-thank you."
"It was my pleasure." I make my exit.
Now see, that was painless. I decide that this is how I will approach my little brainchild.
The Commons is, as usual, congested. I walk through the lobby conjoining my dorm tower with the tower adjacent and wind through the many students from both buildings. Finally, I encounter Beautiful Girl Number Three. She's short and fair-skinned with a strawberry on the small of her back. She's reputed to be promiscuous, but that's none of my business. All I'm concerned with is whether she's pretty.
"Erica?" She turns.
"Mm-hmm?"
"Yeah, I have these flowers for the most beautiful women I see all day. Care to accept one?"
"Really?"
"Well... uh, yeah."
"Awwwwwwwwwwww..." Her voice rises in pitch as she slowly takes the rose from my hand, fondly gazing upon it as if it were a baby animal—or a ring.
"Yeah. Uh... yeah."
"Thank you!" She hugs me. My ears burn red. People turn. I, once she concludes pressing her chest pleasantly against mine, turn on my heel and walk right out of The Commons.
Back on the sidewalk, I—is that her?!
"Jasmine!" She stops walking.
"Hi! Can we talk a minute?" This could be a fabulous opportunity. We both sit on a nearby bench.
"Yeah. Uh... hi."
"Hi. What's with all that? Awwww, you have a girlfriend?"
"No! Oh, no, nothing like that; actually, these are for the most beautiful girls I meet all day long."
"Oh..."
"...yeah. So, uh..." I go blank. I just look at her.
"Yeah? What's up?"
"Well—uh, I'd like you to have one." She looks disappointed. I have no idea what I did wrong. She's one of the twelve most beautiful women I can come up with on a campus with a population of over thirty thousand students, and she’s looking at me as if I were a preadolescent asking her out on a date.
"Uh… thank you."
"You're welcome." I effusively grin as if I had just given her something worth much more than two dollars at any given gas station during this time of year.
"Well, uh, I guess I'll see you later."
"Uhm... well, okay." We simultaneously rise. She walks off; I never see what she does with the rose.
Five through Ten are uneventful convergences. I simply continue circumambulating within the campus and, when I see a girl who's especially attractive, I give her a flower, a smile, and sometimes a warm handshake or a hug.
But Eleven was different.
Once again in the student center, I get something to eat from Wendy's, my everyday diet that will inevitably result in the most weight gain I had ever received in my life until an instance of…
...a waffle fetish, for the lack of a better description.
After the hamburger, I'm on my way to the elevator and I see a beautiful girl getting on. I rush to catch it.
We're standing side by side in awkward silence when I blurt out an awkward "Hi!"
Figures.
She eyes me suspiciously—and somewhat annoyed. "Yes?"
"Yeah, well, it's Valentine's Day, so I decided to hand out roses to the twelve most beautiful women I see." I have, by now, perfected my speech. I also have only two roses left.
"Yeah, right." She rolls her eyes, something I’m yet to encounter and wasn’t at all prepared for.
"What? No, wait—really!"
"Uh-huh." The elevator is approaching the end of its decline. I become annoyed. Why in the hell would I lie about this?!
"No, I... wait, seriously!" I suck my teeth.
"Yeah, whatever." She starts to leave the elevator.
"Well, here, at least just take it."
"I don't want it."
"What? Why?! Just take it!"
She rolls her eyes and snatches it.
I walk away irate, thinking I should have just given it to someone else.
This leaves only one rose left, and I know specifically whom I’m going to give it to. I've been waiting for this Grand Finale all damned day. And it will be about time after that last issue.
I walk to the northern tower across from mine. I perch myself on a bench facing the lobby elevators and prepare to wait.
"What are you doing there?" It's a girl working the check-in counter. I've spoken to her once or twice before, but didn't really know her.
"Oh, I'm waiting for someone."
"Oh, to give that rose to?! AWWWWHHHH!!!! Who is she??!!"
"Well, see, that's the thing: I don't know. I don't know her name or anything, just that she's stunningly beautiful and that I've seen her walking in and out of this dorm, so I assume she lives here."
"Are you serious?! That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard!!"
"Well, uh... thanks."
"Want me to help? I'll help!"
"Uh... well..." I describe what she looks like.
"I don't think I've ever seen her."
"Mm."
"Well, you go right on ahead and wait there as long as you like, honey. Aren't you the sweetest?”
She emphatically sucks her teeth, perhaps in response to the tragic rarity of men like me.
***
Hours pass.
"Hey girl, c'mere!" The check-in girl calls someone over. We've conversed for a while now and we’re running out of topics.
"What's up, girl?"
"Look at this cute gentleman here, he's been waiting here for this girl for hours just to give her a rose! Ain't that the sweetest?!" This girl's vernacular begins reminding me of somebody’s grandmother. I guess that's just how they speak in the South.
"Are you serious?! AWWWWHHH!!" I look at the girl a slight shocked, my head drawn back a little. Are these responses rehearsed?
She turns to me, "That’s so sweeeet!"
"Thank you."
"You are the sweetest gentleman, I swear. Mmmm, girl, if I could meet a man like him..." Didn't she just meet me?
"Mmmm, girl, tell me about it." I look at the other girl, dumbstruck.
"How long are you going to be waiting here, honey?"
"I dunno, as long as it takes, I guess."
"Awwww, but what if she never shows up?"
"It takes tremendous discipline to control the influence, the power you have over other people's lives." What better a time to be Clint Eastwood?
"You are the sweetest guy ever!" I smile and look down.
***
An indeterminate amount of time later, a maid emerges from the elevator on the right. A conversation automatically ignites between her and the counter-girl, and almost immediately after that, the conversation turns to me.
"My, my, what's your name, child?" I cock an eyebrow; I'm eighteen.
"Dezi."
"Dezi? What's that short for?" Everyone always seems shocked that I call myself that, as if there really were a possibility that my name is "Desiree".
"Desmond."
"Desmond?"
"Yes."
"Oooooh, boy, I've heard about you."
"You have?!"
"Oh, yes."
"Well... what have you heard? What do you mean?!"
"Well, I don't know, I don't catch all of it, I just know I hear that name ‘Desmond’ a lot coming out of the bathrooms on the ladies' floor."
"Yeah? Like, laughing and what-have-you?"
"Oh, child, don't be worried, it ain't negative! I know I then heard you was something sweet, or cute, or whatever, and I guess it's true."
"Huh? Really?!"
"Oh, yes, you're a popular one, don't you know that?"
"I guess... now I do."
I never did give that girl her rose. I left it on the counter and went back to my room that night. Alone. And fulfilled.
~ P.
With eyes upturned and mouths twisted, it has been cynically proclaimed in its latter day to be a waste of time and money; a commercial scam instigated mostly by Hallmark and Wal-Mart. Its history is paved with half-truths and broken promises—even blood; it's conception is both dubious and honorable.
But where has chivalry gone? Does it matter where or how something was derived as long as it is currently positive? For example, Santa Claus: the promise that, if any given child’s greed overcomes his or her impulse to misbehave, they and their parents alike will be rewarded; children with whatever they've been coveting and their parents with due reprieve of their kid's youth-excused insanity. And yet this "man" (or elf, or whatever) originated as a marketing idea by Coca Cola, a carbonated drink with enough acid to dissolve an iron nail in a week and enough sugar to give those very children just the chemical imbalance they need to lose their underdeveloped minds in the first place. This is acknowledged—yes, even embraced—and with no ensuing complaint from the evangelistic subculture, the overt sacrilege notwithstanding.
And yet, Valentine's Day needs to be attacked because the majority of the United States is so neurotic and socially ineffable that we end up lonely on the very day that gives us every excuse in the world to be as socially (sexually) "deviant" as our ostensibly puritan society will allow us to be. What's so wrong with a "Hallmark Holiday" anyway? I like those cards, damn it. I think they're cute.
Generally, when certain things go one’s way, one will begin to take these favorable circumstances for granted and when they don't, one tends to forsake them. But some of us (like me) are too hardheaded for that. Some of us are dreamers and don't pay enough attention to how shitty it has been to complain about how shitty it's going to be. That about me will change later in my life. In just a few more years, I'll grow impatient with eventualities that seem to invariably result in my life and I’ll digress into a philosophic purgatory—not quite forsaking everything, but certainly not accepting any of it, either.
But Valentine's Day is tomorrow, and I’m still young and idealistic. Furthermore, never in my life have I experienced a "decent" Valentine's Day. The majority of them have been lonely, a couple of them have been tragic or annoying, but I have never experienced the coveted “romantic and fulfilling.” What am I to do? Certainly, I don’t have anyone to take out, (make) love (with), to captivate… Well… Let's think outside of myself for a moment "What am I getting out of this?" probably isn’t an effective approach to the chivalrous holiday. Maybe the purpose of Valentine's Day is to put a Romantic McTwist on the concept of Christmas—the whole "sharing is caring" sort of thing. Perhaps, it’s even deeper than that. The whole concept of Christmas is to ignite pleasant feelings inside of you by giving someone something they want and hence positively influencing their life. Therefore, what could I do (and with that sort of outlook) to improve this Valentine's Day so that it isn't just a rehashing of what's already happened for as many holidays as I’ve been alive? I mean, never even received any of those little square cards that little girls would hand out in elementary school.
Of course, I’ll come up with something.
***
I go to… never mind, the classes I attend are irrelevant. Today, my life is going to change. I'm finally going to break the curse. I am going to have a romantic Valentine's Day so today, if no other day, it's what comes after class that counts.
I walk to the student center with what would be assumed to be determination by passerby. At the center of the campus, I begin my magnum opus equipped with twelve roses.
Suddenly, she approaches like dawn; her appearance is inevitable, but surprising and breathtaking nonetheless. It’s my time to act, as there is the first Beautiful Girl.
Full bouquet in hand, I walk toward her with my Sunday morning smile.
"Hi.”
"Hi!" She replies emphatically. I preconceived this response; she has no idea who I am and I’m standing before her with a full bouquet of roses and abstruse intentions.
"Yeah, uh, well, you see..." Had I even thought this through? She appears nonplussed. "...I, uh, I decided to buy twelve roses and, well, uh, since it's Valentine's Day..."
She tilts her head to the side. "Uh... do I know you?"
"No. No, you see, I bought twelve roses and, since it's Valentine's Day, I'm giving one to each of the most beautiful women I see. You know, as a gesture. Uh... you know." She stares at me blankly. I pick out a rose and give it to her. She takes it, briefly looks at it and then back at me.
"That is SO SWEET! AWWWH!" She sniffs the rose and we simultaneously walk off. Well... she walks off. I more retreat.
I shrug my shoulders and swivel my neck, adjusting under the new sweat. I'm dressed in my Pierre Cardin shirt and black slacks; I look damned good but I don't want to screw it up because I decided to choke on the first damned girl I see.
I'm walking toward the dorms as I've had enough of the Student Center; I'll come back later. Suddenly, I see Beautiful Girl Number Two. She has on a professional blouse followed by a short skirt accented with cute slip-ons producing high, thick heels. I close in.
"Uh, excuse me?"
"Yes?" She doesn't break stride even a little bit.
"Yeah, see, I bought twelve flowers and—"
"That's nice."
"No, listen, I bought them for the most beautiful girls I see all day. Because, you know, it's Valentine's Day."
She stops. I smile. Her expression is incredulous. I pull out a rose and give it to her. She takes it. I smile again.
"Th-thank you."
"It was my pleasure." I make my exit.
Now see, that was painless. I decide that this is how I will approach my little brainchild.
The Commons is, as usual, congested. I walk through the lobby conjoining my dorm tower with the tower adjacent and wind through the many students from both buildings. Finally, I encounter Beautiful Girl Number Three. She's short and fair-skinned with a strawberry on the small of her back. She's reputed to be promiscuous, but that's none of my business. All I'm concerned with is whether she's pretty.
"Erica?" She turns.
"Mm-hmm?"
"Yeah, I have these flowers for the most beautiful women I see all day. Care to accept one?"
"Really?"
"Well... uh, yeah."
"Awwwwwwwwwwww..." Her voice rises in pitch as she slowly takes the rose from my hand, fondly gazing upon it as if it were a baby animal—or a ring.
"Yeah. Uh... yeah."
"Thank you!" She hugs me. My ears burn red. People turn. I, once she concludes pressing her chest pleasantly against mine, turn on my heel and walk right out of The Commons.
Back on the sidewalk, I—is that her?!
"Jasmine!" She stops walking.
"Hi! Can we talk a minute?" This could be a fabulous opportunity. We both sit on a nearby bench.
"Yeah. Uh... hi."
"Hi. What's with all that? Awwww, you have a girlfriend?"
"No! Oh, no, nothing like that; actually, these are for the most beautiful girls I meet all day long."
"Oh..."
"...yeah. So, uh..." I go blank. I just look at her.
"Yeah? What's up?"
"Well—uh, I'd like you to have one." She looks disappointed. I have no idea what I did wrong. She's one of the twelve most beautiful women I can come up with on a campus with a population of over thirty thousand students, and she’s looking at me as if I were a preadolescent asking her out on a date.
"Uh… thank you."
"You're welcome." I effusively grin as if I had just given her something worth much more than two dollars at any given gas station during this time of year.
"Well, uh, I guess I'll see you later."
"Uhm... well, okay." We simultaneously rise. She walks off; I never see what she does with the rose.
Five through Ten are uneventful convergences. I simply continue circumambulating within the campus and, when I see a girl who's especially attractive, I give her a flower, a smile, and sometimes a warm handshake or a hug.
But Eleven was different.
Once again in the student center, I get something to eat from Wendy's, my everyday diet that will inevitably result in the most weight gain I had ever received in my life until an instance of…
...a waffle fetish, for the lack of a better description.
After the hamburger, I'm on my way to the elevator and I see a beautiful girl getting on. I rush to catch it.
We're standing side by side in awkward silence when I blurt out an awkward "Hi!"
Figures.
She eyes me suspiciously—and somewhat annoyed. "Yes?"
"Yeah, well, it's Valentine's Day, so I decided to hand out roses to the twelve most beautiful women I see." I have, by now, perfected my speech. I also have only two roses left.
"Yeah, right." She rolls her eyes, something I’m yet to encounter and wasn’t at all prepared for.
"What? No, wait—really!"
"Uh-huh." The elevator is approaching the end of its decline. I become annoyed. Why in the hell would I lie about this?!
"No, I... wait, seriously!" I suck my teeth.
"Yeah, whatever." She starts to leave the elevator.
"Well, here, at least just take it."
"I don't want it."
"What? Why?! Just take it!"
She rolls her eyes and snatches it.
I walk away irate, thinking I should have just given it to someone else.
This leaves only one rose left, and I know specifically whom I’m going to give it to. I've been waiting for this Grand Finale all damned day. And it will be about time after that last issue.
I walk to the northern tower across from mine. I perch myself on a bench facing the lobby elevators and prepare to wait.
"What are you doing there?" It's a girl working the check-in counter. I've spoken to her once or twice before, but didn't really know her.
"Oh, I'm waiting for someone."
"Oh, to give that rose to?! AWWWWHHHH!!!! Who is she??!!"
"Well, see, that's the thing: I don't know. I don't know her name or anything, just that she's stunningly beautiful and that I've seen her walking in and out of this dorm, so I assume she lives here."
"Are you serious?! That's the sweetest thing I've ever heard!!"
"Well, uh... thanks."
"Want me to help? I'll help!"
"Uh... well..." I describe what she looks like.
"I don't think I've ever seen her."
"Mm."
"Well, you go right on ahead and wait there as long as you like, honey. Aren't you the sweetest?”
She emphatically sucks her teeth, perhaps in response to the tragic rarity of men like me.
***
Hours pass.
"Hey girl, c'mere!" The check-in girl calls someone over. We've conversed for a while now and we’re running out of topics.
"What's up, girl?"
"Look at this cute gentleman here, he's been waiting here for this girl for hours just to give her a rose! Ain't that the sweetest?!" This girl's vernacular begins reminding me of somebody’s grandmother. I guess that's just how they speak in the South.
"Are you serious?! AWWWWHHH!!" I look at the girl a slight shocked, my head drawn back a little. Are these responses rehearsed?
She turns to me, "That’s so sweeeet!"
"Thank you."
"You are the sweetest gentleman, I swear. Mmmm, girl, if I could meet a man like him..." Didn't she just meet me?
"Mmmm, girl, tell me about it." I look at the other girl, dumbstruck.
"How long are you going to be waiting here, honey?"
"I dunno, as long as it takes, I guess."
"Awwww, but what if she never shows up?"
"It takes tremendous discipline to control the influence, the power you have over other people's lives." What better a time to be Clint Eastwood?
"You are the sweetest guy ever!" I smile and look down.
***
An indeterminate amount of time later, a maid emerges from the elevator on the right. A conversation automatically ignites between her and the counter-girl, and almost immediately after that, the conversation turns to me.
"My, my, what's your name, child?" I cock an eyebrow; I'm eighteen.
"Dezi."
"Dezi? What's that short for?" Everyone always seems shocked that I call myself that, as if there really were a possibility that my name is "Desiree".
"Desmond."
"Desmond?"
"Yes."
"Oooooh, boy, I've heard about you."
"You have?!"
"Oh, yes."
"Well... what have you heard? What do you mean?!"
"Well, I don't know, I don't catch all of it, I just know I hear that name ‘Desmond’ a lot coming out of the bathrooms on the ladies' floor."
"Yeah? Like, laughing and what-have-you?"
"Oh, child, don't be worried, it ain't negative! I know I then heard you was something sweet, or cute, or whatever, and I guess it's true."
"Huh? Really?!"
"Oh, yes, you're a popular one, don't you know that?"
"I guess... now I do."
I never did give that girl her rose. I left it on the counter and went back to my room that night. Alone. And fulfilled.
~ P.
